


'til nothing else remains (except the fires from which I came)

by UndergroundValentine



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: And in which Thor likes to suckle on tender Jotun tits, Asgardian "punishment", Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, In which Thor traipses into the wrong realm at precisely the right time, Interse, Intersex!Loki, Jotun!Loki, Jotuns in heat, Large Breasts, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, Rough Se, Teasing, batskulls, lokis-gspot, mentioned mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndergroundValentine/pseuds/UndergroundValentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up had been a rather strange and indefinitely frustrating experience for Loki.  Where most male frost giants became burly with age and training, shoulders broad and muscles defined, Loki was toned and lithe, and the cunt he'd spent years ignoring as equally as his cock began to moisten with heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'til nothing else remains (except the fires from which I came)

**Author's Note:**

> This whole prompt came from the ever fabulous lokis-gspot on Tumblr (also known as batskulls here on AO3). She posted a thorki-want based on Jotun Prince!Loki going into heat in preparation for a sort of mating season, and only a conveniently dragged in Asgardian is subsequent to alleviating these desires. Lots of breast sucking and tender words and charms and fabulous Jotun sex. 
> 
> Title is a lyric from VNV Nations' "Nova", and therefore is not mine. Nor do Loki/Thor/Laufey belong to me (credit to Marvel and Norse mythology)

Growing up had been a rather strange and indefinitely frustrating experience for Loki.  Being among the Frost Giants of Jotunheim had led him to accept certain expectations both from his people and himself.  Traits of power, bodies of rippling muscles, broad shoulders and mile-long legs were as common amongst the male giants as coarse braided hair and rounded and buoyant bosoms were to the females. 

As a young frostling, Loki had looked upon his older brothers and his father with great pride and awe at their size and strength, secretly hoping himself one day that he would walk with such demand for respect.  But, at the time, traipsing in his cloth and fur loins with his father’s helmet sagging over his eyes would have to do.  And every time he tripped due to poor sight or his small feet catching the knotted furs from slain Bildshnipe, his mother—with her soft hands and uncharacteristically silky hair—would scoop him up and kiss his knees and belly.

When he reached the cusp of young adolescence and he did not begin to sprout like some of his other frost mates, Loki knew that he was different.  Boys he’d played and fought with now towered twice his height, and could much more easily knock him down during rough play (though, as Loki quickly became fond of, the young Jotun prince was much more adept at hiding and sneaking through small spaces than his friendly counterparts).

Another wavering difference between Loki and his friends was that, as they went off to begin their training into warriors and men, Loki could hardly heft a shielded bracer, let alone swing a sword fit for young boys.  Though this was entirely discouraging to his young princely heart, not all hope abandoned him; a spark of delight seared his soul when one day out of grief and anxiety, during a fit of tears, Loki caused the practice dummies in the training court to explode into ice.  From then, his soft and warm mother brought him books and small toys with which to practice his magical craft.

Of course this meant that he oft spent his days studying and practicing in a small compound with his mother, his friends and brothers off sparring and learning to hunt and survive with combative skills.  It was lonely, and more than once had Loki threatened to give up and run away out of shame and embarrassment for not being the great and strong warrior that his father was.  But his mother was kind and his mother’s voice was soft, and it only took Laufey one day of overhearing Loki’s worries to carry his son high and proud and restore faith in his frostling prince’s heart.

When young adolescence blurred into development, Loki again suffered another separating trait from his kin.  The male frost giants sprouted anther dozen feet while Loki could only manage a rare couple, undeniably marking him the runt of the Jotun race.  He only stood at six feet tall—taller than an average Midgardian, but nothing close to that of his people.  Where his friends and most of his family were talented in combat, hunting and survival, Loki had quickly developed powers of manipulation, elemental mastery, and illusions. 

And where most male frost giants became burly with age and training, shoulders broad and muscles defined, skin made of coarse sapphire with their markings etched deep, Loki was toned and lithe, with soft blue skin and shallow marks, and the cunt he’d spent years ignoring as equally as his cock began to moisten with heat.

The first time it happened, Loki confined himself to his room, using a mirror he’d conjured to examine and even admire—though only a little—his dual sexes.  Long ago he’d asked his mother why he had both when he knew he should have only had one.  And she’d explained it as simply as she could then—that he was special, and that his body was not strange or abnormal, for due to his magical heritage and the suppressed Jotun traits he had, his anatomy had adapted to suit both organs.  She’d promised him that, when he became old enough, he would be able to understand his body better.

The second time his cunt grew hot and wet, he’d teased it, wondering if by wiping out the juices that collected along his folds the strange and unsatisfied sensation would go away.  But he’d only succeeded in increasing the wetness, and left himself gasping into his pillow, his cock hard and desperate for a stroke as his palms collected cool, white liquid.

The only saving grace from embarrassment and shame was his mother’s unyielding voice in his mind, reassuring him of his specialty and normality.  Though Loki knew he was not entirely meant to embrace magic and have both a penis and a vagina, his mother had always believed in him and made him feel safe, and he would have been damned to start hating himself for that which he could not control.

Loki grew older though not much taller; his skills in magic and his silver-tongued speech developed fluidly, and though he would often steal himself away to tease and touch himself whenever the heat became immense, he would never reveal his intentions to anyone.  He knew what it meant, why the heat was becoming unbearable some days.  But he could handle it, could handle himself, and there was no need to trouble his family with his problematically small and demanding body.

Then there came the few days that he could not sate his sexual desires; even conjuring a variety of objects in sizes, shapes and textures, his cunt was aflame with need and though his cock became irritably sensitive from rubbing and stroking, it demanded to be touched and released of cum.  Loki, at one point, had even locked himself for over six hours in his bath trying to calm his needs; even once the water was filmy and red from sensitive releases and overdoing his stimulation, he still panted and groaned.

When he confronted his mother of his problems, her eyes softened and she kissed his brow, explaining that for all nearly-developed Jotun there came a time in their life when it was necessary to mate.  That, like some animals, their kind would fall into heat and need to be touched and satisfied by a partner.

But Loki had no such person.  His friends had their own mates, and he would not embarrass himself to a Jotun lady with the revealing of his cunt.  Apart from vanity, Loki was significantly smaller than his Jotun counterparts, and surely he would be ripped to pieces before any amount of pleasure could be given.  Though his mother insisted in helping him find a suitable mate, Loki waved her off and mumbled about how he could take care of the search himself.  Surely, if he were to suffer at the humiliation of another, they wouldn’t come from his mother’s behest.

Stubborn and prideful as Loki was, his fingers and conjured toys eventually gave him no amount of relief, and his body seized into a fever-like state, leaving him bedridden and sweating, his cock and cunt often leaking or spurting release in attempts to cool themselves.  His normally cold, etched blue skin became purple with reddish fever, sweat in his hairline, between the swollen breast tissue that had formed in his heat, along his groin and between his thighs.

It was unbearable, this heat.  Any time he moved or rolled over, he felt on the verge of orgasm, which only made him writhe more.  And the more he writhed, the warmer he felt despite the ice chips that his mother placed between his lips and on his skin.  She scolded him often, but there was a kind of uncertainty in her eyes that made him nervous.  A knot formed in his throat and he swallowed ice, feeling daggers in his stomach as his cunt leaked onto the furs beneath him.

Most nights Loki spent alone in the hollow that had become his bed, shivering and groaning quietly in need and exhaustion.  He could not even properly sleep, for his dreams were full of sex he’d never experienced and of faces and hands that nearly satisfied, but upon waking he would forget their sensation and be in the same disposition he’d fallen asleep in. 

One morning, when the heat subdued enough to move, Loki pulled himself from his bed and into a cold bath, scraping his skin of sweat, grime, and cum, washing his hair and between his thighs before dressing in a long tunic and robe.  A walk was needed; his legs felt sore from spending so long lying down.  The first few steps were rough, and he winced as his hard cock rubbed against the fur lined fabrics, but the soreness melted away, and he was able to ignore the throbbing of his cunt and cockhead.

The palace of Jotunheim was abnormally still, with the dark moon overhead and a heavy snow fall blanketing his home.  Shuffling, Loki made his way to the great hall.  Perhaps his father was in court again, or maybe he would run into his mother or his brothers along the way.  But the farther he went, the more desolate everything seemed, and for a moment Loki was concerned that he was dreaming.

But he pushed at the massive doors to the great hall, groaning and coming a little against his thigh at the strain.  Eventually he managed to open it enough to slip inside to the fire lit chamber, and the sight before him was not one he’d expected.

His father stood in the center of the room, brandishing his weapon at his side, its ragged tip pointed at the throat of a kneeling figure.  Surrounding them were other Jotun warriors—his brothers and friends included—prepared and ready to pounce on the—fair skinned?—man before his father.  Frowning, he saw his mother nearby, looking on without expression.

“Why have you come, Asgardian?”  Laufey growled in the way that often sent shivers down Loki’s spine.  Even after several hundred years as king, his father never failed in frightening him just a little.  The man before him raised his head, and Loki stared upon the face of a golden-haired Aesir, whose bright blue eyes burned in defiance.

“I had no wish to harm you; my journey through your land was honest and simple, and your people attacked me,” his voice was rugged and deep, but Loki knew in the right context there could be softness to it, and he stared on in curiosity.

“You come to my home unannounced, have you better an idea for my reaction?  Your kind only brings suffering, and so suffering shall be returned to your people.”  Laufey raised his blade some, and Loki stepped down from the small stair leading to the floor.

“Father.” 

A moment of hesitation caught the king’s shoulder, and he turned his head, seeing Loki standing by the door, “Loki.. my son.  You should be resting,” Laufey sighed, lowering his blade some.  On the floor, the Aesir was immobile with ropes wrapping around his large arms and shoulders.  Loki ignored his father for a moment, stepping down again with only a faint wince, slowly shuffling forward to where his father towered amidst the other Jotun.

Quietly, Loki drew his robes closer, burrowing in them some as he circled the golden-haired Aesir, whose blue eyes followed his whenever they connected.  He was large, muscles broad and defined, but even crouched Loki could see that he was not overwhelmingly large.  Should he stand, he would be no more than a few mere inches taller than the frost prince himself.  Smiling a little, Loki looked up to his father.

“There is no need to spill blood, Father,” Loki mused, standing behind the Aesir.  Gold hair shifted and the man tried to look back at Loki, but could only turn so far.  Laufey frowned for a moment, puzzled by Loki’s words, “Let me take him.. he can help me.”

Laufey’s jaw clenched and his face softened into agreement.  His father might not have liked the idea of a Jotun prince mating with an Aesir, but Loki knew even he could not deny the idea.  Without proper mating, Loki’s heat-induced fever would only worsen and weaken him.  Though Loki did not think anyone could die from not mating during the proper season, as it were, he did not exactly wish to test the possibility. 

Laufey nodded once, using the tip of his blade to cut the rope, and Loki wrapped both hands around the Aesir’s left arm, coaxing him onto his feet.  True to his belief, the golden-haired male only towered Loki by an inch or so, their eyes level for a moment before the frost prince guided him towards the steps.  His movements were awkward and slow, and he stifled one too many muffled moans before they reached the doors.  Behind him, Laufey called.

“He stays for three nights, to guarantee your wellness.  After that, he will leave.”  Though Loki did not make a sound, he waved his hand to acknowledge his father before leading the Aesir out into the long hall that would lead to his chambers.  His heart raced beneath his skin with every step, but Loki could not ascertain as to whether it was due to his pent up arousal or the idea that he would at last be ridden of his fever, as well as what innocence a Jotun could possess.

They’d walked together halfway down the long corridor when the Aesir spoke, “I suppose I should thank you for sparing my  life… but what purpose could you have with me?”  Loki glanced up into blue eyes, and a part of him melted inside a little.  It was unfair for this Aesir to have such beautiful eyes.

“I..will explain when we reach my chamber.”

“Your chamber?”  Loki swallowed thickly.

“Yes.”

No more was said until they reached Loki’s door, and when his weakness overpowered him, the Aesir gave him a small glance of pity, and swiftly pushed the door open.  Loki nodded once in thanks, guiding him inside.  The door was shut behind them, and suddenly everything overwhelmed Loki at once.

“Are you unwell?”  The Aesir asked, and Loki leaned heavily against the curve of the wall to keep his balance.  His body was hot, his cock aching, cunt soaking, and just being in this Aesir’s presence was making him dizzy.  He smelled of water and grass and the kind of salty sweetness that an Aesir warrior possessed.  He’d never been near enough, nor were his senses on fire from heat, to notice before.  But there was something intoxicating about this particular man, and Loki had to fight every shred of desire and ravenous need from jumping him.

“Help me to my bed; I need to lie down…”  The Aesir nodded, delicately touching his skin.  Though Loki was naturally cold, his fever left him only chilled, and those blue eyes narrowed in confusion while arms wrapped carefully around Loki’s shivering frame, easing him across the room and down onto his bed.  Sighing, Loki curled up partially, his head pillowed by a pile of furs.

Silence fell between the two of them as Loki regained his breath, fingers massaging his chest to steady his heart.  The Aesir watched him closely, his eyes wandering along the short length of his body before falling back to his face.  Loki licked his lips slowly, sighing quietly as he shifted to face the man.

“You are ill?”  The Aesir asked, and Loki chuckled.

“In a manner of speaking,” Loki mused, slipping out of the top robe he’d been wearing.  The tunic was long and covered him from his shoulders to the middle of his thighs.  But the thinness and loss of layers partially exposed the shape of his swollen breasts, a few small wet stains where his cock had rubbed.  The Aesir gazed upon him, each shred of his curiosity playing upon his face and in his eyes, though he waited for Loki to explain. 

“When a Jotun matures to a specific point, he or she… goes into something similar to an animalistic heat.  I have not found a suitable mate because I am so small, and my _predicament_ is different from that of my kin,” Loki murmured quietly.  The Aesir’s expression became soft, understanding, as his eyes roamed his clad figure again.

“So you brought me here to mate?”

“I will continue to get ill if I do not.  If self-pleasure worked, I would not bother.  But it would seem my body demands seed.  I cannot seek it out from another Jotun without risk of exhausting myself further.  But you know if you deny, my father will have you killed or imprisoned..”

The Aesir chuckled, “I cannot imagine why he would have agreed to this… he obviously knows my parentage,” Loki frowned, and the Aesir looked away, “I..am the son of Odin, of Asgard.”

Loki’s eyes widened, and he sat up some.  “Son of Odin?  The Thunderer?”

“Aye.  I am Thor.”  Loki slumped back against his furs, sighing heavily.

“Oh, Gods…”

“You are perturbed by this?”

“Hardly, I just… did not expect _you_.”  Thor chuckled again, and Loki reveled in the sound as it resonated like a purr in his ears.

“I suppose not.  My arrogance and a debt brought me here.  Foolishly, I challenged a fellow brother in arms to a duel, and to my shame I lost.  He bade me come here and return a relic as price for my lost, but your father’s men caught me before I could even reach your palace walls.”

“Good on me to have come, then,” Loki jested, and Thor laughed loudly, heartily, and Loki longed to reach and touch his broad chest, to feel that laugh beneath his fingers and his ear.

“Aye, indeed,” Thor agreed with a smile that warmed Loki’s stomach and set his already erratic heartbeat fluttering further, “though I cannot imagine my friends will believe my tale when I return to tell them I’ve bedded a Jotun prince.”  Loki rolled his eyes and smiled before stopping, eyeing the Aesir.

“Then… you will help me?”

“If you have need, it would be cruel to leave a creature as beautiful as you to suffer,” Thor said, his voice dropping an octave, and Loki purred quietly.  Without another word, he reached out, his fingers sliding along the back of Thor’s large hand, feeling large bones and taut muscles, fingers callused from wielding weapons and ropes.  Thor turned his hand for Loki to feel, and the frost prince traced the veins in his wrist as Thor’s roughened fingertips grazed over Loki’s forearm.

Loki licked his lips gently as he sat up again, cool fingers sliding along warm pale skin, tracing the lines of veins and the soft golden hair that made his skin so soft.  He smiled a little, dragging the flat of his palm over a linen-covered chest, nails raking faintly across exposed collarbones.  Thor shivered, unclasping his belt and removing the offending barrier of fabric, allowing Loki’s fingers to explore muscle and nipples and such warm flesh.

Loki hummed softly, tracing the curves of Thor’s toned sides and the way his body moved and shifted, the heat and the smell of this beautiful Aesir making him tremble, yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.  His fingers demanded to press harder into that taut flesh and he leaned forward, inhaling deeply as Thor’s skin, Thor’s scent, Thor’s body became all that he could see and understand and want and—

“Loki,” Thor growled quietly, firm hands gripping the frost prince’s shoulders, easing him down into the furs as lips and the scruff of a beard smothered the side of his throat and golden hair curtained their faces and Loki moaned a little too loudly and spread his legs farther than necessary to accommodate the Aesir’s knees between his own.  “Have you any idea how you smell right now?”

Blushing beneath his fever, Loki refused to look at Thor, “I..smell..?”  Hot teeth traced the marks etched into his skin and he shivered violently.

“I demand to drink and bathe you in…”  Loki moaned again, eyes rolling back as he arched into the Asgardian prince, his hands gripping Thor’s broad hips, rutting his clothed cock and cunt against his thigh gently.  Pleasure spiked along his spine and flared down his arms and legs, fingers and toes tingling with numbness. 

“Oh, Gods, yes…”

There was a moment where the world and reality as Loki understood it became frozen; Thor’s eyes were the only color he desired, the warmth of his fingers became better than an open flame, and the soft breath that ghosted along the hollow of his throat and between his collarbones was more pleasurable than any rub and stroke he could have given himself.  There was an agreement between Jotun and Aesir that these next moments—nay, _days_ —would be soft and genteel, and just as open for harsh grips and moist sighs into the neck and hair, and hands on hips, and thighs tightening around ribs.  And it would all be invigorating and freeing.

For the second after, Thor’s rugged leather trouser were discarded onto the stone floor of Loki’s chambers, and the oversized tunic was shoved up under the frost prince’s armpits as Thor smothered his rounded breasts in kisses and playful bites.  Quiet mewls and gasps poured from the thin blue lines of Loki’s lips as Thor wrapped his pink mouth around the hardened bud of Loki’s left nipple, grating his teeth against the peak before sinking them into the cold and bumpy flesh, sucking with a vigor that Loki could only have assumed to be intent on pleasure.  But as quickly as he suckled did Loki feel a surprising build in his breast tissue, and he cried out as something seemingly _gushed_ from his tit, and Thor groaned and sucked harder until he pulled away with cool opaque liquid dribbling down his chin and into that scruffy fur of his beard.

“Did I just…?”  Loki began, unsure if it was embarrassment or arousal that halted his sentence and Thor smirked, tilting his head back to emphasize the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed the milk from Loki’s breast.

“Aye,” he said, his tone gruff, “and it was the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

Loki whined softly as Thor brought his lips back to his breast, and arched deeply into the Thunder God, almost willing that mouth to be filled with his milk, panting heavily as the release of pleasure and heat _finally_ seemed to be enough to satisfy the burning of gut and loins.  He tangled blue fingers into golden locks and pulled as Thor sucked on his tit, gasping and moaning feverishly, thighs spread wide and rutting shamelessly against the nakedness of his hips.

Without so much as even looking at Loki, let alone pulling off of his breast, one of Thor’s large and callused hands snaked between Loki’s thighs, hardened fingers sliding fluidly along the soaked folds of his quim, and with a great shout of ecstasy Loki jerked and slammed his hips into the hand and arm of the Thunderer, coming so violently from the touch alone that his vision blanked. 

Gasping, Loki relaxed into the furs as Thor shifted above him, pulling off of his swollen nipple to kiss his throat, beard scruff tickling his bones and leaving him to sigh, mewling quietly as those deft fingers swirled the thickened edge of his sex, rubbing the lower curve and sliding back along the outer walls before swiftly brushing over the rose colored clit that was enflamed with heat and desire.  Loki thrashed and wailed again, gushing onto Thor’s fingers.

Had he been an experienced lover he would have felt embarrassed for falling apart so readily at a few simple touches.  But Loki was young and in heat, and had only ever teased himself with fingers and toys and a clone when one hot night had taken him by a ravaging force.  But he’d never bedded another, especially someone who so readily took his entirety into his hands and very nearly shattered his core with pleasure as Thor did now.

“G-Gods, _Thor_ …” Loki choked on a gasp, his knees shaking, toes numb, “..continue this if you must, but I will soon be too spent to satisfy you proper…”

“Oh, I doubt that, my prince,” Thor mused, kissing Loki’s jaw delicately, pulling the tunic over Loki’s head to throw it aside, leaving the Jotun exposed and wanton beneath Thor’s large frame, “I doubt that very much…”

It was then that Loki felt those fingers that had already pulled release from him twice circling his folds again before slowly dipping into the warmer depths of his quim.  Loki clenched at the intrusion and cried out softly, telling himself to relax but only further tightening his walls around Thor’s fingers.  His legs coiled tighter around Thor’s waist, drawing him closer as his throat ached with another cry, arching deeply.  His body was a cacophony of sensations, and his skin felt like it was about to combust and melt away.  Stars danced across his vision as he rocked into those broad fingers, taking them as deep as Thor’s knuckles and hand would allow, and even still he craved their presence further.

Words spilled from Loki’s lips, but conscious thinking had long since abandoned him.  His breasts rose and fell rapidly as his mouth went dry, and those fingers spread inside of him, stretching his walls and he released again between them, coming along the back of Thor’s hand and down his wrist and arm.  Panting heavily, he watched through half-lidded eyes as Thor removed his fingers, licking his skin clean of the juice that had spilled from Loki’s quim, and the Jotun groaned quietly.

The fire that had blazed within him was partially quenched, though the desire still hung thick over him.  Thor had paid special care to his cunt but his cock still ached and cum had leaked from the slit in his cockhead and began puddling around the base.  Smirking, Thor swiped his fingers through the thick whiteness of it, bringing his fingers to his lips and sucking them clean.

Loki watched him, that pink tongue tracing the white lines and smears of his release before, fluid like water and smoke, Thor came down and pressed that tongue to his aching cockhead.  Loki then arched, wailing as his nails clawed into furs, forcing his cock between Thor’s lips.  The Thunderer greeted it gladly, molding his lips carefully, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked, and that dastardly tongue circled around the reachable sides of his shaft. 

Panting heavily, Loki thrust into Thor’s mouth, his loud moans and high whines tracing the soft words of begging that tumbled from his blue lips, and Thor began to bob his head slowly, taking more and more of Loki each time his swept down.  Clenching and tightening, Loki writhed as his orgasm built, and he spilled hot and thick onto Thor’s tongue and against his cheek, shouting in wild need as Thor pulled off slowly, lips sealed around the head as he swallowed Loki’s cum.  Gently, he sucked, staring deeply into Loki’s eyes.

Beneath him, Loki growled.

“Is something the matter, Prince?”  Thor teased after pulling off, licking his lips, and Loki sat up at once, grabbing the back of Thor’s head to kiss him firmly upon the lips, forcing his tongue between Asgardian teeth to taste himself.  It tasted as he had expected it to—slightly bitter, strangely thick and only slightly warmer than himself for having been in Thor’s mouth.  But he moaned into Thor’s lips without regard, and sighed when the Thunderer pressed him down into the furs, broad shoulders and chiseled hips smothering his slight Jotun frame.

For a moment Thor was content to lie upon Loki, and Loki would have asked for no more or less than this; to feel the warm flesh of Aesir skin and the softness of Thor’s hair, so different from his own yet so similar all the same was an experience in and of itself.  Loki was unlike his Jotun kin, had always been so and would always remain as such, and to be so near someone who closely resembled him with few differences was…

Well, it was refreshing.

Sighing quietly, Loki raked his fingers along Thor’s spine and into the golden tresses of hair, pulling gently as Thor’s lips brushed along the underside of his jaw.  Loki purred quietly, shifting some, bringing Thor closer.  A gasp sucked itself between his teeth and his throat tightened when the brush of a long, rigid cock slipped along his folds, the head snaking over the top of his cunt and just barely against his clit.  Groaning deeply, Loki’s eyes rolled back.  His center might have been warmer than his frosted skin, but Thor felt like pulsating fire, and Loki very nearly cried out at the sensation.

Above him, Thor’s hands tightened at Loki’s hips, large thumbs sweeping against the jut of his bones, lifting him slightly.  The head of his cock swept along the length of his folds and Loki clenched at nothing, arching and moaning.  His hair, disheveled and lightly dampened with sweat at this point, hung in a matted and ruined braid along his neck and shoulder, and Loki turned his face to bury his moans into it.

Breath hitching, Loki arched his back, the swell of his breasts trembling lightly as Thor traced the outer lips of his quim once more, before at last pressing to the width of his sex, slowly sliding into him with one swift, long thrust.  Mouth opening wide eyes firmly shut, Loki wailed in pleasure, arms raised above his head on the furs, fingers digging into the threads.  On top of him, Thor was broad and black, blocking the light of the hearth with his massiveness.  Large hands encompassed Loki’s hips, tracing the length of his thighs, rough fingers tickling his markings.

Loki gasped, tightening his walls around Thor’s cock.  It was everything and nothing like he could have experienced, being taken by someone so large, perfect and elegantly sculpted. He could not deny the pleasure; even if Loki had tried, his mewls and blubbering sighs were evidence enough of his euphoria.  Nay, he dare not, as he dug his nails into fur and flesh, one hand into the cushion beneath his head and the other clawing into Thor’s shoulder.

“Oh, Gods!”  Loki wailed, arching his hips off of the bed, taking Thor deeper with every thrust.  Eyes wild and alight, Loki turned his gaze up to the Aesir above him, watching with a burning satisfaction as Thor’s chewed lips, reddened cheeks and fluttering lashes betrayed every shred of pleasurable wanton that tore away Loki’s sense of pride. 

Thor was not gentle, but Loki would not have asked him to be.  Pain flared in the first few thrusts that quickly melted to scalding hot passion, and Loki was all but glued to the god above him, writhing and panting, soaking in Thor’s heat and flesh.  Purple fingers and toes curled and dug in, tongue dry and lips barren.  Pulled hair and bruised throats, Loki tumbled their bodies over and rode Thor, thighs tightening against hips, fingers clawing into hair, pulling with kisses and abandoned ego.

Thor grasped his body, hands so large and heavy that Loki felt as if he might be crushed.  Still, he clutched at golden threads and panted against soft pink lips, and tightened his core as his release washed over him, and Loki came against Thor’s cock and groin with a wail.  With a jerk and a shout, Thor filled him at once, hot and liquid and spurting deep within him.  Another wave of ecstasy consumed Loki and he shuddered, squirting faintly as Thor’s seed slid and settled deep within his cunt.

Catching his breath was a difficult task, and Loki trembled in the Thunderer’s hold as he was pressed down into the bed, Thor’s cock still buried deep within his quim, as if his intent were to keep his seed secured within his being.  Moaning deeply, Loki stared up at Thor, biting his lip gently before soft lips were crushed into his own.  He tasted Thor’s tongue again, groaning as Thor began to rut into him, thrusting hard and sharp.  Gasping, Loki broke their kiss, wailing at the sensitivity of his quim. 

He curled inward a little, screaming in delight and agony as Thor fucked him, a long hand cupping under his knee, lifting his leg to push Loki’s knee against his shoulder.  He thrust deeper then, balls slapping against the beginning of Loki’s ass, hips cutting into his thighs.  Loki’s moans were sharp and stuttered, rapid in rise and fall from crescendo to decrescendo.  His breasts bounced, nipples hard, and he couldn’t resist touching himself as Thor pounded into him, holding him down to the bed by the weight of his body and his hands on Jotun legs.

Pursing his lips, Loki arched, pinching and clawing his nipples, whining as his heat began to build again.  He felt filled and satisfied, yet denial and bodily need prepared him for another orgasm, and Loki panted heavily into his own leg.  He drew blood along his breasts and screamed, ripping into the blankets when the fire in his flesh proved too painful, coming again around Thor’s cock, jerking violently enough to force the Aesir from between his legs.

Grunting, Thor wrapped a hand around his cock and pumped viciously before spilling his seed again, this time painting the outer folds of Loki’s sex.  Moaning, Loki dropped his hands, pressing his fingers into the folds, spreading them for Thor.  Had he been told even the day before this night that he would bed an outsider, that he would present himself so fully to someone not of his race, he would have thought it impossible.  But now, lying with his legs so tightly pressed to Thor’s thighs, arching and panting and so full of undeniable need for Thor, Loki couldn’t possibly imagine an alternative. 

There was no one else like Thor that Loki could want; no Jotun would be small or gentle enough to suffice and he doubted no other Aesir would be as giving and compassionate.  Thor’s hands and hips may have bruised Loki’s body with sex, but therein was an assurance of passion, a promise that he was going to make Loki feel _good_.  It would not be pretense; it would not be a show. 

With Thor, it was genuine.

Slumping a little, Loki relaxed his hands, breathing as deeply as his erratic heart and desperate lungs would allow.  His lips felt dry and no amount of tracing them with his tongue would suffice, so he gave up, instead leaving one hand nestled into the painted heat of his sex—wherein he tightened his inner walls, eager to keep Thor’s cum inside now that the Thunderer no longer rested within his cunt.  The other hand dragged itself up along his body, sliding through the thin lines of blood that decorated his breast.

“My Gods, Loki,” Thor teased with an exhausted smile, though his cock remained attentive as ever between his legs, “you went and marred yourself.  Did you like it?” 

Loki eyed the golden god before seeing within his frost blue eyes that he was sincere in his asking.  Loki softened, smirking a touch.  “You ask that as if you did not have me here and now yourself.  Did you not hear me beg for you, call for you?  Did you not feel my quim tremble and tighten around your cock?  Did you not see my face written in the heat of fucking?”

Sitting up slowly, Loki shifted, tucking his knees under him, spread to accommodate Thor’s position, his hands sliding up along the Aesir’s sides.  Despite his stance he kept himself tight, locked in place.  By the Gods, he would keep this Aesir’s seed buried close to his womb.  Hands halting upon Thor’s shoulders, Loki stared eye to eye with Thor, red eyes burning into blue. 

“My Godling,” Loki said, quiet as he raised his hands to Thor’s face, “you are my first and only thus far…  And after these nights I will want no other, for they will not satisfy,” Loki, then, pressed a kiss to Thor’s lips, earning a gruff moan, “they will not appease my appetite for you,” another, firmer, closer and warmer, “they will not sate my desire for your touch, your kiss; Gods willing, no cock will fill me the same…”

Thor’s arms encompassed Loki, wrapping around him as Loki’s fingers wound themselves into Thor’s golden hair.  They kissed, and passion fluttered within Loki’s heart like wings, and the moan to escape his lips was damn near silent, only enough to sooth Thor’s ears.  Yes, indeed, Loki had become quite smitten with his first love.  He could hear his father’s voice in his ear, hardened and displeased, but none of these things mattered.  Nay, in Thor’s arms, Loki was content to listen to the Thunder God’s heartbeat and feel his lips upon his own, and know that, at least in this moment, Thor was his and he was Thor’s.

“Have me,” Loki begged, being laid down again as Thor pressed his hands to the fur, lacing their fingers, his thighs sliding between Loki’s, “have me not for duty but passion, Thor Odinson, and know that when I call your name it is because you are the only one who will ever be able to do so…”

When Thor kissed him again, it was not with the lusty fervor of a man desperate to fuck but with the sentimental grace of a practiced lover.  He swept his tongue along Loki’s lower lip and pressed it between his teeth, allowing Loki to suck graciously upon it for a moment, shivering faintly as Thor pressed to him again, sliding slowly into his cunt and filling him again.

Loki mewled, arching a little, raising his breasts as his arms and hands were pinned by Thor.  Smirking, the golden god tilted his head, yellow hair brushing over Loki’s skin as his lips wrapped around a perky blue nipple.  Biting his lip, Loki smiled softly, pushing his breast up into Thor’s face, offering his skin and milk for the Aesir.  Greedily, Thor sucked on Loki’s erect tit and the Jotun prince moaned aloud, feeling himself spilling onto Thor’s tongue, readily and cool.

Sucking tenderly, Thor began to thrust, and the sensations left Loki’s fingers and toes twitching, knees trembling and body thrumming with pleasure.  Magic shifted behind his eyes and Loki could feel his power pulsing in his blood, and a smile crossed his face as he bridged his back and squeezed Thor’s hands. 

The way Thor moved in him was like water, fluid and unpredictable, but unrelenting in its power and coverage.  And sometimes there was enough of a jolt, enough of a rise to spike Loki’s ecstasy and pull a scream from his lips like lightning surging down his spine and stretching out to every nerve and piece of stardust in his being.  And each time he wailed he would sigh and relax, keeping his breasts high enough for Thor to alternate respectively. 

His body tightened and convulsed, and when Loki came it was with a fire-bolt of magic, lust, and love.  Every ending and beginning to his existence sang as Thor spilled inside of him once more, saturating his walls and sinking down into his womb.  His throat ached with his cries of desire, limbs rigid with tension that, upon relaxing, felt jellied and boneless.  His skin was hot, sweat-ridden, his hair matted against the back of his skull.  His nipples were sore, breasts emptied, cunt and cock spent from release. 

Thor did not withdraw from him right away, but instead relaxed upon Loki, leaving warm and sweet kisses along his skin.  Purring softly from the depths of his throat, Loki released Thor’s hand and wound his fingers into Thor’s hair, smiling tiredly at him.  The fire that had scoured his body and soul and sex for weeks on end was abated.  He did not need to move and feel on the verge of aggravating orgasm, but rather there was no desire to move at all.

A kiss was left upon Loki’s lips and he sighed, smiling softly at Thor. 

The following two nights were similar to their preliminary; Loki and Thor would spend long hours together in the comforts of Loki’s chambers, often with Loki pressed into linens and furs, legs twined around Thor’s hips, head tilted back and breasts cupped by large Aesir hands.  Other times Loki would have Thor pinned down, his hips moving and muscles tightening as he rode the Thunder God into an oblivion-like release.

There were scattered hours where Loki would lay upon Thor’s body, toes to toes and his chin cushioned by his arms crossed over Thor’s broad chest, and they would speak of their separate traditions, of jests and culture.  Loki spoke of the brutality of Jotun warriors and Thor praised their dedication to war and combat.  Thor would detail the inherent knowledge and access to such power, and Loki would fantasize about books and learning.

At the end of it all, they would lose one another in kisses, both soft and rugged.

Loki would dress for Thor in the grandest finery of a Jotun prince when Thor would ask him of it; at one point Thor knelt before him, pressing his fist to his heart before standing and scooping Loki into his arms, kissing him deep and desperately.  Another time, Loki sat behind Thor, braiding his hair with cobbled frost stones as his mother had shown him while Thor explained the might of his hammer, Mjölnir.

And when the last hours came before the dawn of Thor’s departure, Loki could not keep himself from touching every inch of the Thunder God, reveling in the feel of Thor’s skin and the taste of his lips.  He would not have shown such weakness if not for Thor’s insistence on seeing his face for every touch and thrust.  Indeed, there was something inherently different, special even, about this last night that even Loki could not have fathomed.  But to lie beside Thor and know that this was the end of their adventure, the finale of their love story…

It broke his heart.

Loki rode Thor, legs tucked around his waist as Thor rested against the mound of furs and Loki’s robes and Thor’s clothes he’d come in.  If their lips were not pressed into kisses, Thor’s mouth would be fixated on Loki’s breasts, or Loki’s tongue would trace the line of Thor’s jaw.  Through all of this, Thor kept his hammer nearby, gripping its leather bound handle to, on occasion, press the weight of into the hollow of Loki’s lower back, sending small, sharp bolts of lightning along his spine and nerves.  Each bolt sent Loki’s passions loose, and he would come with a scream.

Morning came, and Thor was redressed, supplied, and being ushered to the edge of Jotunheim, where he would be whisked away back to his home on Asgard.  Loki looked on from the large window of his chambers, tears in his eyes as a flare of rainbow light circled his love and carried him away into the stars.

It was, according to his mother, to be expected to feel grief after being parted with his first lover.  King Laufey found Loki’s affections frivolous and often chided Loki for being so beside himself, but after a while even he found his words hurtful, and would leave Loki alone to stew in his sadness.

It was not a soul-crushing sort of depression, merely longing.  Intense, burning hotter than a star, Loki would be taken away into a work of magic and books and his own personal training only to stumble upon something so seemingly insignificant and ordinary, and he would be reminded of the hours he spent in Thor’s arms, the taste and touch and ache that too readily leeched itself onto Loki’s body once more.

A month had passed, and though the heat of mating had gone with the time, Loki’s body burned, involuntarily hopeless without the grace of Thor’s presence.  The fires and ache only became worse when Loki was constantly bedridden with nausea and fatigue, only to learn two months after his last encounter that he was with child.  A bastard this babe would no doubt become, Loki’s distress only grew as his belly began to swell.

Four full cycles of the moon, when Loki was round and warm, a growing frost babe beginning to think and behave independently enough to kick Loki’s walls, the rainbow beam came down into the front courtyard of the palace, burning an Asgardian sigil into the ice floor.  Red and silver and golden hair flew about and Thor stood in the company of four warriors, trusted Mjölnir in hand.

When pressed by Laufey for the reason behind his presence, Loki overheard Thor’s thunderous voice requesting the frost prince’s presence.  Loki stepped out, heavy with child, his hair pulled back into the braid it had been upon their first encounter.

There was a moment in Thor’s face that betrayed everything Loki had wanted but could not expect, and it was with pride that Thor turned back to Laufey, voice sure and eyes alight.

“I humbly request Loki’s hand in marriage.”


End file.
